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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25264228">careless or caught</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fated_addiction/pseuds/fated_addiction'>fated_addiction</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>K-pop, Real Person Fiction, Red Velvet (K-pop Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/F, Romance, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:08:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25264228</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fated_addiction/pseuds/fated_addiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Where’s your better half?”</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or, Irene gets cranky late at night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bae Joohyun | Irene/Son Seungwan | Wendy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>110</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>careless or caught</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where’s your better half?”</p>
<p>The kitchen light is dim. Irene looks up; Wendy sits in front of her, bottle of <i>something</i> in hand. She squints and tries to see. But can’t.</p>
<p>“Your jealousy is cute,” she murmurs, and she is already drinking, halfway into her second glass of wine because it was the only thing she could find in the apartment. None of them have been shopping in weeks. It’s probably her fault and insanely irresponsible, but she can’t remember the last time she’s really been this busy.</p>
<p>Wendy only shrugs. “I haven’t seen you all week,” she replies.</p>
<p>Their kitchen table is smaller than it needs to be. It creaks and moans, the more you add chairs to either side. It’s the excuse they all have; it’s annoying to eat together.</p>
<p>Wendy still sits across from her. She looks good, is all Irene thinks. Her eyes sweep over her form, ignoring the dark circles under her eyes. They have all had late nights these days as it is.</p>
<p>“What about your voice?” Irene asks. Wendy pours soju into a glass that seems to have magically appeared too. “I thought you were singing tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“No. Thursday, I think. The studio space is booked for another OST that won’t give up their space. I appreciate the break.”</p>
<p>“You do need to rest.”</p>
<p>Wendy raises an eyebrow. “Sure, okay.”</p>
<p>They feel tense. Irene can’t lie about it anymore. Maybe it’s that they haven’t spent as much time together as they used to. There’s purpose in that, although it sounds like an excuse: <i>Wendy is recovering, Wendy needs space, do things in time and when she’s absolutely ready.</i> Maybe she just took that too much to heart. Most of the time, it’s her best excuse.</p>
<p>She leans across the table. Nearly knocks her glass of wine, but grabs it just in time and presses a free hand around the soju bottle. Wendy has yet to drink. Irene smells the open lip. No flavor, she thinks. Flavors are gross.</p>
<p>“I’m not avoiding you,” she says out loud. Startles herself into putting both avenues of alcohol down and away from herself.</p>
<p>“I didn’t say you were.”</p>
<p>Irene makes a noise in the back of her throat.</p>
<p>“You decided to say that on your own.” Wendy tucks some hair behind her ear. Irene’s eyes go to the long slope of her throat. “Not me,” she adds.</p>
<p>“Well I’m <i>not</i>.”</p>
<p>Wendy scoffs.</p>
<p>It’s then that Irene finishes off the rest of her wine. Wendy follows in kind, downing the single shot. She doesn’t refill the glass. They stare at each other. Irene can read Wendy’s intentions. She’s never been really good at hiding her emotions. They write themselves across her face in a very specific way. It’s almost mindful, certainly poignant, and Irene hates every minute of it. Wendy is the only person who has ever made her feel exposed.</p>
<p>She reaches for the soju bottle. Palms it between both of her hands.</p>
<p>“Do you need something then?”</p>
<p>A slow smile twists over Wendy’s mouth. It’s one of those pretty smiles, full of secrets.</p>
<p>“I need a lot of things,” she answers. “Nothing you want to give me though.”</p>
<p>Irene’s heart launches itself into her throat. <i>Oof</i>, she thinks. Okay.</p>
<p>This is where they are right now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The truth is never simple. Nor is it cyclical.</p>
<p>For Irene, it’s always existed.</p>
<p>She has never been able to point where her feelings for Wendy began and then <i>really</i> began. In fact, a series of moments seem to make it inconsequential instead of how heavy and real it is. There’s no timeline when you start feeling something for someone. It’s where people mostly go wrong, trying to quantify and make sense of a person and how they are supposed to fit into your life, whether you agree with it or not. The worst part, she thinks, and this has always been the worst part – they both feel the same way, something that lives needlessly between them.</p>
<p>There is no escaping that part. </p>
<p>It’s not even a problem anymore.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re still dressed,” Wendy notes.</p>
<p>Irene looks down. She is: it’s a heavy corset and shorts. The jacket is behind her, over the chair; it’s the only thing that’s really come off. Her boots are somewhere by the door and her makeup still feels caked onto her face. She’s already spent an hour, admittedly, telling herself that she’s going to get up and wash her face and go to bed since tomorrow is another day.</p>
<p>“We couldn’t find my bag. I didn’t feel like looking. Seulgi said she would look in the practice room after her dinner. I think it was with Sunmi-unnie? I was supposed to have dinner with Jennie. Or <i>Jisoo</i> and Jennie.”</p>
<p>Wendy tilts her head to the side. “Are you drunk?”</p>
<p>“Tired,” she scoffs. “I’m <i>tired</i> and cranky and still in this corset that I forgot I was wearing because it was so stupidly itchy earlier that my skin is just like… I don’t care anymore. It seemed like the best thing to do was to come right home.”</p>
<p>And the dumbest part is that she feels like she shouldn’t being saying this. Her throat feels dry and tight. She doesn’t lie to herself. It’s been past that point for years. It’s what happens when you have to worry about four other people other than yourself.</p>
<p>Wendy doesn’t say anything. She never really does. She’s the only other person that really sees her this way, too used to the moments where Irene lashes out and is prone to these stupid, childish fits. Maybe that makes her too empathetic. Maybe not. But she pushes herself away from the table to stand, moving to Irene’s side and standing while she still sits. She thinks she’s going to reach for her and her fingers dig into her knees – <i>like that’s going to stop her</i>, she thinks.</p>
<p>The thing is, Wendy never judges. Instead, she pushes Irene’s hands away from her lap and shifts, straddling her lap in the chair. Irene watches wide-eyed as the other girl sinks into her space, draping her arms around her shoulders. The position is way too much for Irene and when she pushes her hands to Wendy’s hips, her fingers merely sink into her sides and hold her closer.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong with you?” she murmurs. Her throat feels heavy. “I’m the one that’s been drinking,” she says too.</p>
<p>“Not the greatest idea.”</p>
<p>“Shut <i>up</i>.”</p>
<p>Wendy smiles.</p>
<p>Irene sighs. “I’m cranky,” she admits.</p>
<p>“I know, “ Wendy says. “You can feel the mood as soon as you walk into the door. You should really work on that.”</p>
<p>She’s teasing again and Irene hates it. An angry flush hits her cheeks. “You’re really not that funny, you know.”</p>
<p>Wendy doesn’t say anything. Moves her fingers along the crux of her hip, over the fabric of this really dumb, <i>uncomfortable</i> corset that she’s been wearing for far too long. She’s not sweaty and she’s no longer dancing. All of the sudden, though, she’s more than aware of the fabric again, how it stretches and sinks into her skin. How Wendy pulls at it and it puckers back. How she suddenly likes how that feels too.</p>
<p>They don’t say anything else either. Irene stares and Wendy stares back, moving her hand up to cup her jaw and study her, almost too openly, almost openly enough that Irene is uncomfortable and wants to beg her to kiss her just so that it would stop. She doesn’t like being this exposed and Wendy knows that. Knows that way too well for someone who is dancing around her like she’s the better half.</p>
<p>And then she kisses her.</p>
<p>There’s no fanfare. Wendy’s bottom lip, drags against her chin, then her lip, and her tongue slips into her mouth. Irene moans, like <i>actually</i> moans, and digs her fingers into Wendy’s hips to keep her right there, right on top of her. Wendy still controls the kiss: bites at her lip, then at her tongue, and then kisses her deeply, all over again, as if to take every single breath she has. It’s heavy and hot and all of the sudden, sticky and sweet. Maybe it’s the soju. Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s both and Irene is just really tired. It doesn’t seem to matter.</p>
<p>Wendy still moves her mouth from Irene’s, then to her jaw and then to the dip between her shoulder and throat. She bites. Not hard enough. Irene shivers and drags her fingers into Wendy’s hair, just to pull. Because Wendy likes it when she pulls at her hair.</p>
<p>“Are we alone tonight?” Irene asks breathlessly. Shifts their weight. She pins Wendy back against the table. “You and me?”</p>
<p>Wendy laughs huskily. “Would it matter?”</p>
<p>“Probably not.” Then as an afterthought, Irene bites at Wendy’s lip. “You’ve never cared either.”</p>
<p>“Nope,” Wendy agrees and it’s a lot stronger than her replies usually are. There isn’t any liquid courage.</p>
<p>This is how the mess usually starts:</p>
<p>Irene stands, or Wendy stands, and suddenly, her shorts drop and are missing while Wendy’s fingers have discovered her corset is, in fact, a bodysuit and the crotch snaps right off. It might be easier to do it on the table – spoiler alert, they have and that was a really long time ago, in a different place and apartment – but Wendy has managed to push her up against a wall, sink to her knees on the cold tiles of the floor, and bury her mouth between Irene’s legs like it belongs right there.</p>
<p>It all makes her too dizzy. Her leg drags over Wendy’s shoulder, a hand pulling at her hair again as its both Wendy’s finger and Wendy’s tongue sliding inside of her. All the knots from the day seem to unfurl and Irene’s hips buck hard against Wendy’s mouth, practically begging for some kind of immediate release. The thing is that they’re no longer clumsy now and Wendy knows exactly how to get underneath Irene’s skin, point by point. So when she slides another finger inside of her, her eyes squeeze shut and she swears she can hear herself grit and growl a please. </p>
<p>“You need to get better at stress release,” Wendy teases her. Presses a kiss against her thigh, biting lightly at the skin as her wrist twists and turns a little.</p>
<p>“You’re being an <i>ass</i>.”</p>
<p>Wendy only laughs and the heat in Irene’s belly spools way too fast. After that, she dives in, full force, like everything else she does – a turn of her finger, her teeth raking gently at clit, all the while Irene loses every thread of carefully constructed control. She likes that Wendy likes to watch her. She’ll never admit to that.</p>
<p>When she comes, and she really comes, a gasp shudders out of her mouth and she clamps down hard on her own fist, feeling herself spasm around Wendy’s fingers. Her hips buckle and her eyes squeeze shut. She’s breathing way too hard for all of this.</p>
<p>Wendy shifts to stand. Her wet fingers press into Irene’s hip and her body covers her into the wall. Irene watches her under heavy lashes, trying to gather herself together because god, she <i>needed</i> that but <i>god</i>, why is this so complicated. You see, it’s really that simple. They aren’t good at talking about this, whatever this wants to quantify itself as. There has always been a them and there is always other people, the other part that makes their relationship insanely circular.</p>
<p>It’s in these moments that Irene wishes she could just say to her <i>I need you</i> and it would be this way, that way, and everything else in between. But she can’t and Wendy can’t. So here they are, odd corners and late nights.</p>
<p>“You should sleep,” Wendy says. She leans in, brushing her mouth over Irene’s. It’s gentle; just not a kiss. “You’ve got a long day again.”</p>
<p>Irene just feels idle. “Probably,” she says.</p>
<p>It’s the only way she ever agrees.</p>
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